Page 13 of Sinful Promise
“Er…” She twirls colorful streaks of hair around her finger and thinks. “Flynn’s fine, Torres too, and Kirk’s plodding along. You already spoke to Raquel, which was one of the things I couldn’t fix, and now Fifi’s heading back to her desk having said what she needed to say.”
“Which means?”
“All that’s left is working through the files from the storage container.” Back when we ran Holly Wade’s cold case, the emergence of new information made it clear our former chief had no issue ignoring—or completely altering—evidence. “Holly was pregnant,” she pushes on, as mad today as she was when we pulled two skeletons from a single grave. “Pregnant! And the M.E. didn’t say shit.”
“So you assume there’ll be more in the remaining evidence boxes?” She’s got a point, but I have no desire to go digging around in the past again. “Jesus, I hate cold cases, Aubs.”
“Do you hate them more than calling the mayor? Cuz you need to do that too.”
When my eyes flare, she lifts a hand in surrender. But she giggles. “Run the cold cases, or call Daddy Mayor. Those are your choices.”
“But why are they myonlychoices?” I whine, only slightly grateful when my stomach roils about something other than the murder investigation being conducted across the city. “Jesus, Aubree. He’s just so…”
“Sexy?” she inserts with a sly grin. “Protective? Scary.”
“He’s got thedadvibes,” I exhale. “I’m a professional, married woman. I’m nearly thirty!”
“You just turned twenty-eight,” she rolls her eyes. “Just.”
I scowl. “He looks at me like I’m eleven and asking for money to go to the movies.”
“His need to make sure you’re safe and happy makes you uncomfortable,” she giggles. “But while you see a dad when you look into his eyes, I see adaddy.” She rolls the last word, and leans forward to grab the phone from my desk.
She tosses the handpiece my way so it crashes and clangs against the desktop, then she dials upside down and smirks. “You see a father, and I see a man who must surely fuck away his frustrations.”
“You’re despicable.” I pick up the phone and hate how my stomach dips with nerves. “He’s the mayor. He’s our superior.”
“Have you met his wife? I bet she walks funny.”
“Aubree!”
“Mayor Lawrence’s office. This is Elaina speaking.”
“Uh… Hi, Ms. Guthrie.” I shoot a glare toward Aubree’s taunting gaze. “It’s Mi—Um, Chief Mayet, returning Mayor Lawrence’s call. If he’s not in, I can—”
“Please hold. I’ll transfer you now.”
“Sure. Fine.”Dammit!I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on my breathing as music plays through my ears. “He’s probably in a meeting or something,” I mutter to Aubree. “He’s busy.”
“I wonder if he ever fucks his wife on his desk,” she ponders. “I bet he rides for dayyyyys.”
Slowly, with superhuman patience, I open my eyes. “Aubree—”
“He’s got that John Dillinger, old school gangster vibe, right? Like, give him a cigar and take off your panties, because he’s gonna impregnate you with really good-looking—”
“Doctor Mayet. Hi.”
I startle in my chair when Justin Lawrence’s deep voice slides through the phone.
He has a baritone of authority that keeps the city chugging along. Hell, the female population probably thanks him for his policies, while the men comb their hair to match his, secretly wishing they could be as cool. But he speaks to me now as though heknowsmy assistant was sexualizing him, andstill,he somehow makes me feel pre-pubescent.
“I’ve left dozens of messages for you, Chief.”
Moments like these, it’s important for me to remember that at age eleven, I was basically raising myself.
“I was busy, Mayor. Out of the office.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs, displeased. “In New York. That’s an interesting destination for Copeland residents.”
